birth of our ending
by Henna Laru
Summary: How I think season 8 may or may not kick off. Dean's back, but at what cost? Mostly flash-back purgatory. Slash-ish/ pre-slash-ish. Rating for safety: language, sort-of character death and sort-of boy kisses. Title: Blackbird Raum's Ars Goetia.
1. Chapter 1

**Birth of Our Ending: Part 1/3**

Major premise: If I owned Supernatural, I would have had a panel at SDCC.

Minor premise: I had no such panel.

Logical conclusion: I do not own Supernatural.

…

Sam Winchester had given up on living life like a normal person. At some point after their dad's death, he had accepted his burden that as a Winchester he had to sacrifice his own ambition to save the world of ignorant people living their lives the way he could only envy. Sam Winchester was, reluctantly, born and raised a hunter: Jessica had paid the price of his trying to escape that life. Team Free Will or no, Sam learned well enough from Dad, from Dean, from himself, that being a Winchester meant being inherently toxic to that kind of apple-pie lifestyle.

Yet, waking up next to Amelia, slinging his arm around her thinner body and watching her pale naked back, covered in dark ringlets, fall and rise soundly; before rolling over without the familiar feel of a knife tucked under his pillow, without seeing a gun on the dark wooden bedside table; it felt right to him.

_No, not _right._ Never _right _again... But as good as it gets now._

It wasn't right because things couldn't be right without Dean, but it felt... real; secure. At Stanford he was happy, but he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wasn't surprised when Dean showed up back then; he was relieved; relieved to stop pretending that he could live his own life. Now, with Dean and Cas gone nearly a year, it finally felt over. Sam was the last Winchester and the defected one at that.

Lying face down, he peeked open his eyes and peered through his hair to his bedside table. He knew what was in that top drawer with the brass handle.

_Maybe today is the day._

…

_He had met Amelia seven months ago, right after he finished off the last of the Leviathans. A tall, broken looking, scruffy bearded man attracts a great deal of attention even at a loud bar. Sam's way to the dirty counter was cleared as people scurried to get out of his way. The patron's sported mixed expressions of wary fear until he sunk onto a stained red barstool with a slumped back. Pity registering into their faces, they turned away when he seemed to recognize and acknowledge their stares with an empty one of his own. _

_The bartender was a tall woman with curled strands of dark hair that had escaped her messy bun framing her face. She wore a tight black dress with a simple bead cross necklace. She greeted Sam with a smile that made her eyes crinkle in the same way as Dean that made Sam's heart ache. He wondered what he must look like to her, with shaggy hair to his shoulders, the beginnings of a beard. Traces of dirt and blood spotted his green flannel over shirt. Maybe she would kick him out, "We don't serve the homeless, sir," but she didn't. Maybe she recognized how much he needed something strong to drink._

…

_For whatever reason, she not only served him his whiskey, but paid for it. It could have been how she could tell that underneath the grunge and unnatural aging, he was cute; tall with dimples and a smile that had so much potential._

Before whatever happened happened, that grin must have been brilliant, _she had thought._

"_That's enough of that, I'm a doctor and you are not getting any more from me to drink," she said with a smile when Sam was pleasantly smashed and the hurt was being replaced by hazy drunkenness. When he opened his weathered leather wallet and fumbled with bills she moved to put her hands over his,_

"_On me; you can repay by taking me out sometime," she smiled her Dean smile and noticed how Sam's brown eyes went distant and unfocused, even looking on the verge of filling with tears. _

"_It's fine, I was joking," she backtracked. _

"_No, I'd love to," Sam said, ever not wanting to disappoint or hurt someone else._

Besides, maybe I need to move on. I did what I could. This is what I'd want for him, right?

_And so, they dated. Sam's looks improved, he shaved off the beard that, Amelia said, "combined with your height and wardrobe choices, makes you look like a lumberjack… dear." He stopped doing that far-off puppy dog without a master look. He even told her—an edited version of, of course—what had happened to him, how much he had lost: his brother and best friend, and another friend—perhaps something more to said brother—who had both broken and saved him. In turn she told him about her past, her becoming a doctor but having to quit after an abusive relationship with her superior, her then becoming a bartender like her mother had been. What a couple they made: the doctor-turned-bartender and pre-law-turned-mechanic, where life didn't let them just be. _

…

Samuel Winchester had bought the diamond ring the Thursday prior to this particular Monday morning. He fiddled with the box every morning before she woke up, hastily shoving it away as she stirred, but he didn't even have the chance to open his drawer to do so when there was a loud knock on her their door.

One would think that you could get used to miracles. Chuck's fans were found to complain online—not that Sam would ever read what they had to say about his life, of course not—that it had become commonplace for the boys to spring back from the brink of, or actual, death; that they had just come to _expect_ Sam and Dean to make it through anything; that their successes, their returns, their survival.

The fans didn't know shit about living it, though. Yawn though they might at reading that Dean had somehow gotten out of Purgatory and shown up at Amelia's, their doorstep; it still made Sam stop dead in his tracks, tear up, and rush to open the door.

He had to fiddle with the knob awkwardly before throwing the thing back to hit the wall. The bang had to of woken Amelia, but Sam was preoccupied with the man before him. He rushed forward to hug him, probably not the best idea but Sam hadn't been in hunter mode for some time, and didn't let him go though he struggled.

"Dude," Dean said, though his own arms came around to grip Sam firmly.

A throat cleared from behind Sam and he let go of the shorter man. With a grin, Sam stepped slightly to the side to let his brother in and Dean's eyes flickered to Amelia, still clad in her short, white and silky nightgown.

"Hello! I'm Dean, brother to this moose, believe it or not," he said, looking her up and down blatantly. He offered a hand to shake but she just crossed her arms over her chest and glared a bit.

"Sam?" She seemed confused, but her eyes softened affectionately when she saw how happy Sam appeared to be at his brother's appearance.

"I know, I can explain. Actually, I can't, not really. Anyway, Dean, this is Amelia," Sam said, going to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"You sure about that this time?" Dean chuckled with a wink and Amelia gave Sam a bemused questioning glance.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam said, eyes rolling, "Where's Cas?" he asked, leaning his long frame around Dean to look around the front porch for the nerdy angel.

Dean didn't answer him, and the flickering of the recovered fire in Dean's eyes was gone too quick for Sam to notice. Sam did, however, notice Dean's thumb coming up to brush across his bottom lip before he regained his senses and hastily shoved his hands back into his jean pockets with a muted smile and shrug.

"Mind if I come in?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Birth of Our Ending: Part 2/3**

[A/N: Sorry if Castiel is out of character [he normally isn't around much and even then doesn't talk too much, but he had to so he's going to be OOC somewhat no matter what I do], I've been watching comic con panels and I get him and Misha and other's fanfiction portrayals of him mixed up. Please critique my portrayal of him, among absolutely anything else, seriously.]

_Hold on,_

_This may hurt you when I tell you of the truth,_

_We don't get two lives to live_

_It's true,_

_The only fault I've found in you_

_Is not being free to take what I would give_

_If I could bend your pain_

_Into something good_

_Make you a prouder man_

_If I could rough you up_

_And save you with good luck_

_And show you hope again_

~Rachael Yamagata's The Only Fault

…

ERSTWHILE IN THE SHADOWS OF PURGATORY:

Dean was aware that he was well and truly fucked this time. He was surrounded by darkened forests, red gleaming eyes and harsh whispers; alone; alone because Cas-but-not-Cas had flaked out on him.

_And here I thought he was getting better. Better, my ass. Or maybe he's well enough to pop himself back to home from this hell-hole. Great. _Dean thought bitterly, but he couldn't help hoping that that was it; hoping that Cas was back on Earth with Sam, safe. _Because the crazy bastard would only get in my way._ Dean wasn't about to admit that he just wanted one of them to get out of here okay, and his priority was naturally not himself. Not to mention that Sammy was all alone surface-side.

Not one to sit around collecting dust, Dean made his way through the plant life that didn't seem to be currently harbouring any creatures, looking for a clearing, water, hot chicks; anything that would indicate that he could survive here. He didn't even know what it would take for him to survive here. He couldn't remember if he ever had to drink water in hell.* Soon enough he realized that water wasn't really going to be a concern if the ever-louder whispering and growls were any evidence of what lay on all sides of him. He realized just about the amount of racket he was making as he tripped over stones and logs, so he stilled. Adrenaline running, he tried to plan his next move. Surrounded in unfamiliar territory by fuck-knows-what, with no back-up, he was properly screwed.

_Well hell's gonna freeze over before I let some demon make me his bitch without a fight._ So he poised for the animalistic noises coming from all sides. _Bring it, I probably kicked half your asses here in the first place, who says I can't do it again._ That thought stumped Dean momentarily. _If this is where ganked monsters go…._

But before Dean could figure through experience what happened when he attempted to kill one of the surrounding creatures, he was knocked down and covered by what seemed to be a gigantic crow. He had to spit a few incredibly long feathers out of his mouth and brush them from his face. He pushed against the wings with his hands, feeling the slender boney limbs from which the sleek black feathers protruded.

"Dean: Hold. Still." The harsh whisper in the rough voice came from directly above his head and he automatically flinched back from the wings covering the front of his crouched body. His back hit another person figure, from which another noise emitted, a complaining grunt, and his freaked brain connected the voice and situation:

_Cas._

Even after everything that had happened with Cas, his body betrayed him and rushed trusting relief through his veins. _Cas. _Cas was alive and he was here.

"How your insubordination has not killed you yet eludes me," Castiel said as he stood and stretched his wings back away from around Dean, them twitching so that his feathers rearranged themselves back into proper position. Cas tightened his eyes at Dean's green eyes that followed his wingspan as he folded them to his back self-consciously.

"It has, just no one will let me stay dead. Dude, your wings are showing." The black wings twitched as they were mentioned. Dean wondered just how much control Cas actually had over their movements.

"I am well aware, thank you,"Cas offered Dean a stiff hand, as Dean was still crouched in surprise of the enormous now-visible wingspan, but Dean rolled his eyes and straightened on his own, brushing the dirt off of his now-ripped dark jeans.

"No need to get snippy, prin—" Dean's eyes moved back up from his stained pants to Cas and he cut off, "Cas, man, are you okay?"

Castiel was much dirtier than Dean. His hospital scrubs were torn with mud and blood streaks. His tan trench coat was now quite torn with his large folded wings poking out torn, bloody holes in the back. Cas' body swayed and Dean's hands automatically came out in preparation to catch him, but his blue eyes were hardened determinately.

"It's not safe here," Cas didn't make eye contact with Dean, ignoring his question, blue eyes shifting around the woods. Before Dean could pipe up with his sure-to-come protest, Castiel had pressed two bloody fingers to his forehead and Dean was stumbling in his new location. In regaining his balance, he had rested his hand against wall of what seemed to be a wet cavern.

"Smells like blood in here, Cas," Dean said sniffing and twisting his head in an attempt to see into the even darker place.

"We're in purgatory, Dean," said Cas in monotone; from the shadowed silhouette of Cas that Dean could see, he seemed to of done his humans-are-dumb head tilt.

"Right," Dean said, "so how do we know that this isn't some demon nest?"

"We do not because this _was _a den of abominations." **

Dean jumped into a fighting stance, "Then what the fuck are we doing here, man? Are you_ trying_ to get us killed?"

Cas gestured to what just appeared to Dean to be a large pile of… dark fleshy stuff. He thought he could make out a tentacle poking out of the lump of this cave's former inhabitants.***

"It is safe now, Dean. Trust me."

Dean felt pangs of guilt at that. He had assumed that Cas had scrammed on him as soon as they found themselves in this not-hell hole, but instead the dude was looking for and securing shelter: for _him._ Instead, Cas had fought it out with what looked like a pile of god-knows-whats, while Dean was thinking about how alone he was in all of this shit. Then again, it was Cas' fault that they were in this mess in the first place.

…

Before first going to sleep, Dean had removed the bodies and prepared a bed of leaves, while Cas rested, combing through his feathers with his fingers absentmindedly, causing Dean to stop and look at him sometimes as Dean moved in and out of the cavern.

Purgatory proved to be cold, especially for trying to sleep in a damp cave, but they were safe in the territory of the dead monsters, safe enough for Cas to start a fire with his angel mojo. Water had collected and staled within the cave for Dean to drink, but soon Castiel remembered just how much more it took to sustain humans.

Dean's stomach growled and he mumbled through his dreams as Castiel watched the fire's light flicker on his sleeping golden face. He tried to recall how long Dean could last without a meal. From practical knowledge, he knew that under better conditions humans could last weeks without a meal, albeit weakened, however from experience he knew just how often the boys ate.

His existing knowledge on human needs, especially those of the hunter, did not indicate in Dean's favour. It looked like Cas would have to find a way to provide for the hunter.

When Dean awoke to Cas being gone, he remembered not to freak out.

When Cas was not back an hour later, Dean was still not freaking out. Well, maybe a little bit.

When Cas got back, Dean was _definitely_ not acting like a worrying wife, he _certainly_ did not check Cas over twice for hint of injury and without a doubt did_ not _slap his arm and yell at him for being an idiot to leave in the middle of the night.

Cas' head tilted "There is not night, Dean. Night is generally defined on Earth as the time whereupon the location at which there is night is not facing the sun. There is not sun here and time probably does not correlate with that which—"

"Got it dude; point still stands, now where the hell did you go?"

"Food," and with that, Cas was forgiven… Until Dean saw what Cas had brought him to eat.

"The fuck is that?" he was referring to a dog-like creature resembling a hellhound****: thick black fur with a spined back and horns; and only charred and blistered sockets where its red, sunken, dead eyes belonged, except it had two heads and thusly four such eyes. Looking at it brought back bad memories and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

"Sustenance," Cas said simply.

"Oh no, nuh-uh, that is _not_ happening," Dean looked at Cas like he was the craziest son of a bitch he had ever laid his eyes upon.

"I realize it does not look… appealing; however, I assure you, that this was the least offensive… thing to be found. Dean, you need to eat."

Dean refused and Cas sighed. The next day the creature began to smell and Cas removed it from the cave.

Dean was relieved that Cas got over his temporary lapse of judgment, but his stomach growled none-the-less.

The day after that, however, where the rat had lain, there was an even worse looking one. It had tight black skin over its vaguely human-shaped body, a tuft of feather sticking out the top of its head, and one arm, one leg, and one eye. Its middle had a long gash with black sludge congealing along the edges. Dean ignored it with a shake of his head and Cas didn't push it, looking a little green himself as he gazed at the leathery creature.*****

This time, the thing was gone before Dean woke up again the next 'morning,' stomach clenching at the pangs of hunger. It had been nearly a week and Dean was weakening.

By the time Dean returned, there was another hound, smaller and probably female due to the lack of horns on either head. Cas was seated next to a fire, skinning the beast of its thick hide and fur.

Dean ate every bit of it with a side glance at Cas.

…

"How come I can see your wings anyway?" Dean asked absentmindedly staring at the black wings as they shifted with a mind of their own. Dean had taken to looking at them when he thought Cas wouldn't notice and tuck them back like he normally did when he caught Dean staring.

"Purgatory does not seem to be accommodating to my vessel. Humans such as yourself are nearly too fragile for such an environment; a human body already under the stress of containing an angelic presence may not be able to handle it." Cas intoned, while putting out the fire. He didn't want to lead any of the other abominations to suspect that they were there. He was afraid already that some had spotted him while he was hunting the foul beasts.

"So what does that even mean; is Jimmy gonna explode?" Dean asked with a creased brow and worry colouring his voice.

"I am uncertain. Angels are not meant to venture here, so they don't."

Dean felt guilty as he was reminded of just all angels were not _meant_ to do, _supposed _to do. In terms of these, Cas was a shitty angel and it was all Dean's fault. Dean had broken up Cas' family, Cas' purpose in life, as much of a life as angels had anyway; for what? To camp out in the land of monsters? The other angels could suck it, but Cas deserved better.

…

They were seated on the damp floor, darkness and echos of their breath throughout the cavern. The silence didn't faze Cas, but Dean was getting antsy.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay, Cas?" Dean asked, still worried Cas' ability to survive here.

"I do not know Dean, does it matter?"

"Of course it matters, dumbass"

Cas looked torn between mild offence and hope, Dean rolled his eyes.

"Listen Cas, I'm not too good at this, but damn we might be here together for the rest of… I don't even know. Anyway, we need to understand each other, right?"

"Right," Cas said warily, not too sure where Dean was going with this. Was Dean going to accuse him of something? How many more accusations could he take? Castiel was tired of trying to make up for what he had done and hated himself for it.

Dean lied down on his back, talking to the ceiling. Cas remained seated up looking at Dean's face with an intensity that would bother anyone but Dean.

"Sam's done some bad shit, you know? But I've always forgiven him, because he's Sammy, because he's my brother. That's been my job, since I was fucking four years old, just barely done shitting my pants, because that's all I had: Dad and Sammy. For a while, there was Bobby, Ellen, Jo, you know, family beyond blood, right? But then there's _you_, Cas; you're not blood; hell, you're not even human, you're… you're Cas. I don't know why, but that makes it different. Not even for a moment did I think you could turn bad. You're a fucking angel. I made a fucking _angel_ rebel and go dark side… What kind of jackass does that make me?"

"The righteous man. I raised you from perdition, I rebuilt you. Angels are born yearning for the grace of our father. Your soul was the closest I had ever experienced. Any angel would be willing to fall for that."

Dean wanted to scoff, how could _his_ soul be anything but broken. _Chicks dig scars_, he thought sarcastically.

There was a silence as Dean debated what to say next. He didn't want to make the moment cheesy, nor did he want to ruin it by telling Cas that what he said was gay, or that this was a scene from a chick flick. For the moment he left his masculinity how it was, neither reaffirming nor further dragging it through the mud.

Finally the silence got to be a bit too much for Dean, so he dropped the topic at hand.

"You know, I've been to hell, to heaven, to purgatory; but I've never been to Disney World."

It took a moment for Cas to come back to reality, or whatever it was that Dean was in.

"Disney World? Earth is the only planet of which I know humans inhabit."

"No, dude, it's in Florida."

"Oh." Cas looked thoughtful, "then—"

"Never mind, Cas."

Dean rolled over, indicating that it was time to go to sleep. With a sigh, Castiel lied down with his hands folded on his chest before it irritated his wings. He sat up angrily and tore his shirt and coat off, scratching at his back. Then, Castiel lied back down on his side, their backs facing each other.

Dean needed to use the bathroom after he had slept only about three hours. He switched his lighter on and stumbled groggily out. When he came back in and patted his leaves to go back to sleep, he glanced at Cas. He knew Cas was not asleep, Cas didn't sleep, but he looked peaceful. Dean smiled slightly and moved his lighter carefully closer to the angel to look at his wings knowing this was his chance since Cas seemed tuned out to the world.

What he saw was what made him drop the lighter. What he saw were the cracks. Around where the wings sprouted from Jimmy's back, the skin was withering back, burgundy gunk around the edges. From the edges of his skin, the cracks spread like veins. Unlike veins, they were not underneath the skin but went through it, lit with blue glowing light.

_It looks like he's… bursting out of his meat-suit. _

He only got the one thought and inerasable image of Cas' back before there were more pressing issues for Dean and Cas. The dried leaves and twigs were giving off smoke.

_Shit; Shit!_

Cas came out of his introspection, shooting up at the smell of smoke, his nostrils flaring.

"Dean!" Cas yelled, yanking the hunter up, and they ran.

"They know we're here now, Dean."

…

They wandered, setting up camp where they could. Dean was not much use at helping defend themselves from the monsters, he was unarmed. They were both exhausted. Whenever they killed a monster that was not made primarily of ooze or genitalia, Cas would cook it and Dean would eat. Dean's standards became quite low for what he would stomach. Whenever they had a moment of calamity, Dean would sleep and Cas would keep watch, resting his body and powers.

Wherever they went, it was cold. Dean, having lost his leather jacket to the fire, took to constant shivering.

It felt like months had gone by, but how were they to know? Variables of time, eating and sleeping, became dependent rather on safety. Dean often wondered how long it had been on earth. Maybe just minutes, perhaps Sam was still wiping away and disposing of Dick's gunk, maybe it had been years, decades. Maybe Sam was dead. Maybe Dean was an uncle, a great uncle, a great great uncle. Maybe Dean had been forgotten, who was to remember him but Sammy? Even if it had only been minutes, Sam could have been killed already, taking any trace of Dean with him.

Castiel sometimes tried to keep Dean from such thoughts, reminding him that they were not on earth, that Dean's ponderings where meaningless here. Mostly Castiel stared into the distance and tried to Dean alive and keep himself together in one, Jimmy-shaped, piece.

…

"We cannot start a fire here Dean," Cas said, eyes locked on Dean's chattering mandible. "Here," he said, shrugging off his trench coat and offering it to the shivering man, "This should provide a means of containing your bodily heat."

Dean refused the coat. When he woke up with the tan cloth draped over his body, Dean just removed it and handed it back to Cas before leaving to take a morning piss. The following 'night's he still wouldn't accept the coat before falling asleep but he didn't complain upon waking covered with it, just handed it back over and went out to piss without a word. Cas would smirk as he put the coat back on without a word in reply.

It only got colder. Dean's body wracked with shivers even with Cas' trench coat. The cold didn't bother Cas, but he could monitor it with his vessel's senses, he knew it was too cold for humans to be in constantly without protection or shelter. He knew also that his vessel created bodily heat. With all the logic in the world, he crept over to Dean and sat up against him. However, with only his side touching Dean, this would not be of much assistance to the shaking hunter.

Cas wasn't stupid: naïve, not stupid. He knew Dean would not fully appreciate his efforts. However, watching the man sleep with shudders and blue lips that mouthed Cas' name when he sat nearby, Cas could admit that he didn't care about what awake Dean would think or do. This creature with no mask was beautiful, and Cas could see, could _feel_ Dean's glowing soul flicker with poor health.

So he laid his body up against Dean's awkwardly. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to move or if he might awake Dean, his wings uncomfortably trapped between his back and the grassy ground; but he didn't need to think too much as Dean snuggled up and pulled Cas onto him, turning him with them chest to chest. Cas smirked at Dean's forwardness in sleep. Cas closed his eyes briefly and pretended that he could sleep, that he could let his subconscious give him whatever he wanted for a couple of hours. Instead, he reopened them, stayed grounded in reality, and kept watch.

When Dean awoke, his eyes widened and cheeks blushed. Cas expected a full melt down temper-tantrum, but Dean just untangled himself and went into the woods as he normally did in the morning when nature called.

When he returned Dean simply pointed at Castiel, gave him a I'm-not-fucking-around look, and stated,

"You're _not_ gonna tell Sam when we get back," and that was the first and last acknowledgement of what had transpired that night and every one since.

…

The cracks only furthered, spreading to cover Cas' back. He could not see them, but he sure could _feel _them. He felt like he could just stretch his grace the slightest and his vessel would crack open like an egg, the shell littering the ground in pieces. He had to keep Jimmy intact, as soon as he lost his vessel he would become a beacon advertising their location as he would leave traces of his grace. For now they were safe because these creatures were territorial loners: they could take one or two at a time and know that they were on safe territory for a while. If one of them caught a scent of angel grace, they would be after the two in herds. Cas would have to lead them away from Dean, to his own death.

Prepared as Cas was to do this, he would try to survive for Dean. He didn't know if Dean could hunt here by himself, with no weapons and a need for food and sleep.

…

Castiel had the beast in his grips finally. The angel's white shirt had been torn to shreds and his coat was wrapped around Dean, who was huddled under a tree, nursing his own wound.

Cas' eyes lit with his blue-white grace as he made to kill the monster, but in the moments before its eye burnt out and it slumped in dead heap to be made into lunch, the monster smirked, or did as much of a smirk as something with two mouths both directly over its single eye could, at Cas and the black wings protruding from his back, the skin recoiling from the feathered limbs.

"Dreary little butterfly, your cocoon's nearly done in, eh?"

Dean, already watching to make sure Cas would be okay, perked up. The monster, hearing his movement, glanced at him, looked back at Castiel,

"Didn't let the boyfriend know, did we caterpillar? That's rude," it said and cackled as its eye singed and burnt to a crisp.

…

Dean remembered that Cas didn't know about his seeing the cracks along his back from his wings. The bastard was breaking into pieces and couldn't be bothered to let Dean know.

"Cas?"

"It was lying, Dean," Cas was straight-faced, and none-the-less a shitty liar.

"Are you going to die?" Cas sighed, resigned, at Dean's blunt question.

"It's a… possibility," he said, rubbing over his face with his right hand.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" Cas tilted his head at the absurd question.

"Dean, that doesn't even make—"

"You heard the angels, the monster, everyone: Cas, I broke you. I break everything. No angel should end up here."

"No, Dean, you didn't break me. You made me… human. Or more so, anyway," Cas articulated.

"Isn't it the same thing?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe, Dean, but it couldn't be any other way."

"Dammit, Cas, get angry at me. That's humanity, getting angry over shit," Dean took a step closer to Cas and clamped his hands on his shoulders like he was preparing to shake some sense into the angel, though they both knew that with his resistance Dean would not be able to.

"Will you be happy if I anger?" Cas looked confused.

"That's not the point! I taught you to rebel, then I blamed you when you did! You should be royally pissed!"

"It's not your fault, Dean," Cas intoned with his tilted, calculating, expression.

"It's not yours either, goddammit!" Dean yelled.

By this time their faces were inches from each other. Cas looked miffed at the blasphemy, the expression of anger, however small, from the angel helping Dean to regain control. Dean was breathing heavily as he calmed himself down.

"Damn, we smell like piss," Dean commented as he breathed heavily through his nose to stop his panting.

"Speak for yourself," Cas said indignantly, chin tilted upward, not meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean looked Cas over, Cas' stained mental-patient gettup, his torn flasher trench coat, his permanent five o'clock shadow, his oversized crow wings and narrowed eyes. The laughs came out wheezily from lack of use, and soon he and Cas were both emitting low chuckles, clutching their sides.

…

When Dean saw the lit crack on Cas' forehead, he kissed it. Dean could feel the grace on his lips. Dean fell asleep rubbing his fingers through Cas' sleek black feathers; swearing he could hear the angel hum.

…

Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel as the angel flickered that night, sitting up right next to Dean with a tortured expression, seeping in and out of Jimmy; just a brief glimpse of the shining angel in his full glory. Castiel was indescribable, shimmering blue and inhumanly lovely.****** Sometimes Dean forgot that Cas wasn't Jimmy, wasn't human. Dean was awed that such a creature had any interest in protecting him, in following him. That he could sway the loyalties of something like Castiel was mind-blowing.

"You're beautiful, Cas," the straight-forward whisper that escaped Dean's lips took Cast by surprise. Castiel knew that Dean would not have said anything if he wasn't half-asleep. As it was, Dean probably would not remember this happening in the morning.

"You should see your soul, Dean," Cas whispered back, holding Jimmy's form as best he could, but Dean was already snoring again.

...

CLARIFICATION POINTS:

*- my logic is that humans can die in purgatory because it is not a natural post-mortem destination for them. Hence, Dean wouldn't have needed anything to survive in heaven or hell but can and will die here without food or water. Plus, as far as we can tell, they took their bodies down [or whatever] there.

**- demons= broken human souls from hell; monsters= born of purgatory/ go to purgatory. Dean doesn't care much about terminology because he kills them all for giggles. Cas calls them abominations because they were not created by, or any way connected to [somewhat unlike demons that are just humans with natural flaws stressed to the breaking point], his father.

***- I decided for the sake of not pitting my boys against monsters that they cannot kill that anything they kill just dies for good down there. Maybe it goes to heaven. Maybe it goes to monster hell where it's stuck as a Cullen.

****- but not a hellhound cause those are from hell. _Rightttt._ So it's an orthrus.

*****- my best description of a fachen. I just discovered wikipedia's articles on legendary/mythological beasts so expect some cool shit in my next and last chapter. Actually, don't, because they're mostly stub articules and half of them are demons/spirits not monsters and I don't want to fuck up the difference between heaven/hell/purgatory's creatures any more than I already have.

******- wasn't even going to try to describe him. Some depictions are really good and I would do not justice trying to put into words what people are coming up with on the interweb. I really like the ones that make me think of Spirited Away, such as: spacerocketbunny(period)deviantart(period)com/#/d56ypb2


	3. Chapter 3

**Birth of Our Ending: Part 3/3**

_Lie awake, knife in hand_

_For the few remaining angels_

_Pray or talk to yourself_

_Someone told me that it might help_

_War in the heavens, it's all of our stories, _

_To burn is our birthright, birth of our ending_

_War in the heavens, the end of our stories,_

_To burn is our birthright, God is our enemy_

~Blackbird Raum's Ars Goetia

…

Castiel had taken to meditation, his wings for once keeping still, inky feathers only moving slightly when there was a breeze or movement around them and his eyes drifting shut, as a way of calming his vessel and shrinking his grace upon itself to relieve the stress of harbouring an angel.

To Dean, this was a lot of mumbo-jumbo for 'Cas is taking a nap'. Castiel assured Dean that he was not sleeping, but actually just 'consciously slowing his heart beat and calming the neural…' and Dean stopped listening.

So when Dean awoke to Castiel lying down with his lips moving silently [in fact he was producing sound, an Enochian lullaby*, just outside of the range of human perception], he quietly walked into the nearby brush to piss and maybe catch some grub, having found some eggs yesterday that, while ginormous double-purpled yoked with blood surrounding the yoke rather than egg-white, were not too bad for eating; once one had gotten used to eating slimy, scaly, furry, or spiked monsters for his breakfast, anyway.

Dean, however, never made it to the site of the eggs whose mother**, a word Dean used for lack of a better one, had been slain by Castiel yesterday, and Castiel broke his meditation to find himself quite alone.

…

Dean had just rezipped his pants when he heard the bushes around him rustle loudly. He hadn't expected trouble- since nesting sites were normally pretty safe once the nesting creature was disposed of.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel stepped out from behind a particularly large bush covered in berries Dean knew better than to eat.

"Dude, how long have you been standing there? Where the hell are your clothes?"

_Oh fuck, if he's cracked again… _Dean was quite used to the staring and lack of personal space, so he didn't think much when Cas stepped forward without reply or blinking. The nakedness was disconcerting at the best of times, but also something he had had the displeasure of experiencing before purgatory.

Dean would later blame being protected by an angel and essentially out of the game himself to his too slow reaction time when the hand that came to brush his forehead, which Dean had watched warily until his eyes couldn't follow any longer and he leaned slightly back with a concerned look, suddenly pulled back and struck him unconscious.

…

Waking tied up in a ditch watching a shape-shifter and an angel duke it out, occasionally causing even more dirt to fall into said ditch, wasn't on the top of Dean's list of things he wanted to do that day. In fact, it hadn't even made the list. So when he came to to watch what appeared to be two Cas' fighting, he blinked a few times to dispel the crazy sight. When it refused to disappear, he groaned.

Eventually real Cas got his hand on naked not-Cas and smote him. Watching this was a vision to behold. The grace could be visibly seen traveling down the cracks, darkening where it moved away from his forehead, and making its way down the cracks in his arm, _wait, when did those get there? Fuck, Cas, _moving both in colour change and actually light seeping into the atmosphere, before going down Cas' fingertips to not-Cas' head and bursting out not-Cas' eyes in a burning whiteness that left dark spots in Dean's vision.

…

Castiel had known that what they had established in Purgatory wasn't going to last; every day it became harder and harder for Castiel to pull himself back into his shell of a vessel.

Dean had spoken of being rescued by Sammy, but they both knew that wasn't really an option here. Purgatory wasn't a well-documented place, unlike hell: a human soul had probably never been here before Dean, and Sam couldn't manage to get Dean out of hell either.

Besides, the abominations now all knew of their presence and the shape-shifter having taken Dean as bait that morning may have been the first wouldn't be the last to do so.

It felt like it had been at least a year. Castiel knew he couldn't last another. He had to save Dean, again, one last time. This time maybe the world would welcome him with more open, peaceful arms.

Castiel needed to act before the decision was taken forcibly out of his control.

…

Castiel left a shivering Dean, protected by makeshift protection wards fueled with his grace that would last only as long as Castiel dared be gone, and went to find Benny.

Benny [his real name in a language no human would understand and Castiel could only speak well in terms of threatening smiting loosely translated to 'the one who eats raw children'] was one of Eve's eldest children: an alpha among alphas. It was rumoured that vampires, shape shifters, _and _ghouls descended from his infliction. In any case, if anyone knew how to get Dean out of Purgatory, it would be him. Not that he would do it out of the goodness of his heart [if he still had a beating one, that is].

If Benny hadn't wanted to be found, he wouldn't have been. But Benny knew that the angel was growing weaker and using the last of its strength to care for a human hunter. He could guess what this conversation would be about.

Castiel poofed into existence at the edge of Benny's territory, swaying slightly, and with the effort the crack on his forehead expanding to the top of his left eye socket in one branch, and between his blue eyes in another. The cracks flickered the purest white-blue the monster Benny had ever seen, when he stepped out from behind the shadows to reveal more than his red glowing eyes.

"'Ello, angel. Not tha' brightest move, comin' 'ere. Lots o' us been lookin' fo' ya. 'Ya pretty lil' boyfriend too," Benny lied somewhat. The lesser monsters had been looking for the angel and hunter. Benny and the other eldest had laid in wait.

"Taking my grace by force will damage it greatly," Castiel said, getting right to the point.

Castiel knew that was all that kept the stronger monsters away now that they knew he was here. An angel's grace would be worth fortunes down here, broken or not, but these creatures had lasted for ages before and they could outlast a cracking angel if it meant intact grace. Such a thing would establish a king down here.

"Tha' it will, what do 'ya propose instead, love?"

"We make a deal." Castiel stared the abomination down with his sparkling blue eyes and confidence, but the monster just cackled at him: a cracking angel in hospital scrubs with ruffled hair and a determined look on his dirty face, twitching wings betraying his nerves.

But Castiel just kept his expression, his eyes tightening a little, because he knew he might save Dean with this deal he was shaking on.

Castiel had learned a lot from the Winchesters.

…

Castiel was right when he realized that soon they would be attacked from all angles by monsters desperate to get his grace and thusly a rise to the top.

Fortunately enough the abominables desperate enough to act now were pretty easy to fight off, with the added help of Benny protecting his investment.

So far Dean had been lured away by a finwife, looking for a human husband more so than Cas, actually, she was hoping to secure both though. He had been tried by other shapeshifters, but he learned not to let a Cas that was naked or clothed in leaves, etcetera, anywhere near him. He almost did leave with a convincing Sam-look-alike who claimed that he was there to take Dean home and the spell he had used only allowed biological tissue through. Cas arrived in time to smite him as Dean was about to take the man's hand and lead and the hunter punched the angel in the gut several times, the scruffy angel taking it with a grimace, before the not-Sam melted into a puddle of flesh-ooze. Castiel didn't let Dean see the cracked craters now expanding on his stomach.

They were even herded by a pack of those two-headed hounds at the command of none other than Gordon***, his vampire self. Dean himself fashioned a makeshift stake, his hands shaking from the ever-colder atmosphere, but still steady enough to get a sharp point, and killed the man with a smile as he was cornering Cas.

As it was, time was running out on our boys, which was exactly why Castiel disappeared again to have a chat with Benny, who assured him that he was putting the finishing touches on his plan to get Dean out of there and back surface-side with his brother. Castiel didn't know how much longer he could keep the hunter safe and his grace sheltered in his cracking vessel.

…

Dean wasn't dumb, contrary to sometimes popular belief. He knew that Cas wouldn't leave him a shivering mess all alone without a reason. He also knew exactly what that reason might be and what it would take for such a thing to be carried out.

So when the angel returned with swooshing of inky black wings, which Dean followed with his eyes even as he focused at the task at hand, enraptured, he was prepared to confront.

He had to shake his head before forcing his gaze back at Cas' face. His lying, treacherous face.

"Cas, the f-f-uck do you think you're d-d-doing?" Dean's glare was ruined by the sound and movement of his teeth chattering behind blue lips.

"Pardon?" Cas played innocent. Tilted head, smoothed voice, he'd learned how to lie from the Winchesters too.

Dean didn't need to speak to express that he didn't buy it.

"It's for your own well-being, Dean," Cas sighed. What _it_ was, he didn't clarify.

"Th-that's not g-g-good enough, C-Cas. You can't d-do this to me ag-g-gain. " Dean said.

Castiel took another shot at lying to the man with the pinked nose.

"For us, I am going to get _us_ back to Earth,"

Funny how Castiel could tell just by the man's eyes everything he thought or felt, including how suspicious Dean was and how he only dropped the subject because his clattering teeth might bite him tongue off if he tried to say anymore.

…

The last straw was a pack of three werewolves. A well-aimed bite by the last surviving wolf to Cas' shoulder sent him dropping to his knees. Dean jumped up, fueled by adrenaline and rage, and managed to break the neck of wolf with his bare hands. The sickening crack rushed relief through Dean before he glanced back at the angel. The cracks, now spread on all his visible skin, were pulsing with white-blue light seeping from them. When Cas opened his eyes that were painfully screwed shut, they are no longer blue but entirely white and also exuding the rays.

The angel shrieked and Dean fell to his knees as well, murmuring unintelligently a string of assurances and threats, anything.

Jimmy shattered and pieces of him flew in all directions, splattering the ground, Dean, everything with blood, leaving one clean circle where Cas now sat in all his glory. Exposed.

"Cas?"

A high pitched ringing was the response from the glowing and glittering blue creature with many faces, long thin arms, the same black crow wings and a body several times the size of Dean. The most human face, long and sorrowful, looked at Dean.

"Right," Dean sounded as if he reached some inner decision and Cas knew what it was, after all, the angel no longer had the choice of shutting himself off from the hunter's thoughts. Still, it had to be voiced, "take me then."

Cas' long inhuman face frowned and Dean stood, still only half as tall as angel even as it was crouched upon itself with a bird-like grace and posture, spreading his arms wide.

"Don't think I can handle it? Fuck, I was supposed to be an _archangel_'s meat-suit, and you don't think I can handle nerdy little _you_?"

Castiel emitted a noise that caused the trees to shake and Dean's extended hands to come back and cover his ears. Dean took it to be a chuckle from the angel's brief amused expression, before the angel's face returned to seriousness and Dean dropped his own smile and hands to his sides. The hunter nodded and screwed his eyes shut.

…

Being a vessel isn't like being chained to a comet, Dean realized. It's more like becoming one ray of white light in an infinity where he could not feel, do, or see anything, but somehow knew that he was so small and surrounded by an infinite amount of… white on all sides. But maybe it was just Cas being Cas, and Dean being wrapped tightly in his warm, soothing grace.

The entire time Cas' grace was inside of him, Dean just floated. The only painful sensation that came to reach him was what he vaguely recognized used to be his back. He felt the skin tearing and ripping sharply and blood oozing thickly. _He was sprouting wings_. The pain didn't ebb away but was rather suddenly gone as Cas' grace came between the hunter and sensations yet again.

…

The next time Dean felt anything, it was the sensation of falling. It was coldness and loneliness and darkness. With Cas' grace easing out of him; he felt empty, hollow. He would have given his free will to just be safe and secure back in an infinity of _Cas_.

He opened his eyes slowly, remembering what it was to have control of his eyelids and muscles and movements, feeling the two wounds of his back, his green over-shirt, now more shredded rag than shirt, sticking to him with the matted blood, where black wings once sprouted. It was only fair that Cas leave a new scar on Dean now that the handprint was gone.

He saw Castiel, fully angelfied, and what had to be his monster-in-cohorts.

Castiel's, or properly Jimmy's, voice rang through Dean's head and he widened his eyes at the angel, "You taught me this, Dean. Believing in something enough to fight for it, bleed for it, _die _for it. You have your family, and once I thought I had mine. I was wrong, Dean, family is not about who or what you are, but what you believe in. I believe in you, Dean."

The angel, crouched on all fours with inky black wings falling on either side, tips touching the dirty ground, leaned forward and its most human face gently kissed Dean's lips. It wasn't passionate or sexual, but Dean could feel a sliver of Cas' grace make its way from the angel's blue lips into Dean's chapped pink ones.

With an eye roll, the monster touched his fingers; an outrage, he had no right to lay a filthy hand on something so pure; to the angel's head and the angle shrunk into a ball of pure white light that the alpha stashed in a metal box that he then handed to an underling.

"Le's ge' you ou'a 'ere, eh, poppet?" The bastard smirked and his hand stretched towards Dean and he had yet recovered his ability to flinch.

Dean arrived back at Dick's former company building, gasping on the floor for breath.

…

POINTS DE CLARIFICATION:

*- I'm going with it being a lullaby not to sleep but to relaxation of newborn angels or cherubs or something. Not sure if angels can be born [not begotten, surely, but still 'born' in the most super basic meaning of coming into existence whereas one was not existent beforehand], but since Michael is the eldest, I assume there's some order meaning they must of come into existence not all at once or infinitely, so perhaps a lullaby from Cas' 'youth' as an angel.

**- I get that for most supernatural monster types it's a bite or whatever that transforms the creature [depending on the creature, I'm talking about the contagious types [e.g. vampires, werewolves, the like] and not the self-made ones [wendingos, etcetera]] but I imagine it would also be passed to the young like other bodily-fluid type diseases. Or maybe these are the eggs of a creature that's born that way naturally [shape-shifters?]. Who knows? 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy;' let alone things in purgatory too. Honestly, I'm just logic-ing my way out of having to do any actual research.

***- here's my shaky theory for this. I couldn't figure if human-born vamps [and other creatures of similar transformation] would properly be in purgatory considering they had human souls [eg. vampire Dean, and the werewolfess Sam banged both seemed to possess a soul]. So my theory is that only at the point where a newly monsterfied human gives in to monstrosic urges does the human soul become so eroded that it is not fit for heaven or hell, but must go to purgatory instead. My only canon evidence for this theory includes Gordon and how before feeding he seemed to have his soul [even if it was a shitty one] but afterwards lied and killed his jesus-freak friend and how vampires who have yet to feed still have a hope of being cured [and if one died would probably still go to heaven or hell because at which point only the body had been really altered] so must still be pretty human at the core/ soul level.


End file.
